


the Deviant wears Prada

by Archadian_Skies



Series: the heat that drives the light [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Pre-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), brief appearance by connor and sumo, no ships here bye, premium chaos dad carl, tune in to find out, vs tired exhausted hank, who has the higher level of stubbornness?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: The American Androids Act of 2029 states that all androids are required to be able to be clearly identified as such and visually distinguished from humans. This rule must be followed in public spaces, with their clothing bearing an LED armband and triangle markers.Carl Manfred doesn't particularly care for such a law. Hank Anderson is tasked with upholding it.





	the Deviant wears Prada

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3311](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3311/gifts).



> Inspired by the fact Markus is the only android with a unique uniform at the start of the game, and the fact that Carl is a creature of chaos.

_November 5, 2032_

There’s only so many home deliveries a man can order before he goes stir crazy, Carl thinks, but does that still apply when it’s an android in question?

The RK200 has been in his life for four months, one week and three days, and it has been eight months, three weeks and six days since the accident that necessitated its creation. There’s something new in Carl’s heart, something like a small bud getting ready to bloom after a harsh winter of snow and thorns. It’s something like hope, something like affection, something like friendship, something perhaps maybe sort of like familial love.

His name is Markus, not ‘the RK200 gifted by Elijah Kamski’, and where once Carl rejected him, spurned him and was just short of hostile, mistaking Elijah’s gift as a token of pity, of a patronising gesture to a broken old man, now Carl knows it was a gesture of care and concern. Elijah never forced a servant into his life, he gave him a caretaker and friend.

He watches Markus potter around the studio, tidying this, putting away that, and naturally his eyes are drawn to the barely dried puddle of blue paint on the floor. It had been a low moment, one of tightly bottled emotions finally exploding, one of anger, rage and bitterness simmering until it boiled over. Overcome by how helpless he truly felt he’d thrown a tantrum like a goddamn child, he’d thrown his brushes, he’d knocked the can down so the floor was splashed in a puddle of the summer sky and he’d yelled, oh how he’d yelled at Markus who so diligently knelt to pick up all Carl had hurled.

And Carl felt like a fool, like a complete moron and he’d wept then, wept at how hopeless his life seemed now he could no longer even bathe by himself, now that he had to rely almost completely on an android, so ashamed he couldn’t even reach out to his own flesh and blood son.

And Markus, Markus stopped putting the brushes away and instead, very hesitantly, wrapped his arms around Carl in a comforting embrace. His LED had been a bright blood red, the very first time Carl had ever seen it glow such a colour.

He knew then, and he knows now; Markus is a sentient, living being.

Which brings him right back to the present, to Markus so diligently putting away the new delivery of linseed oil.

“Markus?”

“Yes Carl?”

“Would you like to go pick up my Bellini order at the store in person tomorrow?”

There’s a pause, and Carl watches curiously as his LED cycles yellow once, before returning to its usual steady blue.

“I’m not sure what that would accomplish, Carl.” Markus answers slowly. “The paints are delivered free of charge, a courtesy since you are their most famous patron.”

“You’ve never gone beyond this driveway ever since you arrived.” Carl points out, tapping his chin in thought. “Don’t you want to see the city?”

“Want.” Markus repeats, and his LED cycles yellow again. “That’s not a concept familiar to androids, Carl.”

“How about,” Carl wheels himself over to him and takes his hands, “I send you to the store. It will be a new experience, and you can tell me if it is a positive or a negative one when you get back.”

“Alright Carl.” Markus nods. “I’ll go to the store in Greektown tomorrow to pick up your order.”

* * *

Fashion is another form of art, and throughout his life Carl has purchased many a designer piece to either wear or simply own to display. When his house was being built, he’d given the architect strict instructions to build him a room worthy of housing couture.

It’s been a while since he’s even entered this section of his wardrobe, and it stings how much Carl misses what was once a simple act of dressing himself and going out. Markus will have to do it on his behalf.

“Weather’s a bit chilly today, so you’re going to need a coat and a light scarf.” Carl hums in thought, running his hand over the section of coats.

“I don’t feel the cold, Carl,” Markus reminds him with an indulgent smile, “but thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“Here, the Aquascutum.” He tugs on the sleeve of a dark charcoal trenchcoat. “And a cotton voile scarf in tonal greys.”

Markus puts on the coat and scarf, leaning down when Carl motions at him so he can fuss over the scarf until it’s artfully tucked around his neck.

“The American Androids Act of 2029 states that I dress in a manner clearly identifiable as an android. This coat lacks the armband and triangle markers required of garments worn by androids.” He recites dutifully and Carl dismisses the statement like swatting a fly.

“Who gives a shit, it’s your first day out I want you dressed stylishly to take on the world.” The nonchalant shrug makes Markus frown in concern.

“We are breaking a law.”

“Add it to my rap sheet.” Carl laughs, patting Markus’ hand. “I spent a good chunk of my youth getting arrested at protests, so I don’t care if they add a couple more lines to the list.”

There’s a flicker of a smile on Markus’ lips, something brief and hesitant and real and it makes Carl’s heart leap in fondness.

“Alright Carl, I’ll go out dressed in this.”

“Attaboy.”

Markus returns thirty-five minutes later, and Carl is waiting for him.

“So?”

“I have your Bellini paints order.” Markus states, placing the box on the hallway table so he can carefully remove his coat and hang it on the hook.

“Was the experience a positive one or a negative one?” Carl prompts.

“It was a positive experience.” A pause. “The store is very aesthetically pleasing.”

“Good.” Carl beams. “Very good.”

When he runs out of gesso and turpentine, he sends Markus out in a sapphire blue Burberry peacoat with a peacock green scarf. It is another positive experience, Markus tells him, and Carl’s cheeks ache from smiling. He decides right then and there to keep sending Markus out into the world, and dress him appropriately for it.

* * *

“Anderson!” Fowler barks, and Hank rubs his temples wearily.

“Coming, coming.” He mumbles, gritting his teeth as he gets up from his desk. Cole had a nightmare and so he's fubctioning on little sleep. “What’ve you got for me?”

“There’s been some calls,” Jeffrey begins, sliding Hank a tablet as he takes a seat, “mainly from the Greektown area about an android.”

“Did it kill someone?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell should I care?” Hank scoffs, barely glancing at the tablet.

“Because I got my guys out there fielding questions about some rogue android that dresses like a human, and no one’s been able to identify it.” The captain taps the tablet, swiping through a few photos taken by police drones. “That face matches no model in the CyberLife catalogue.”

“So, what, it’s a secret android?” Hank sits up straighter, rubbing the stubble on his jaw in thought. “Private model? Custom model?”

“Maybe, and maybe that means it could be dangerous.” Jeffrey pushes the tablet a little closer to Hank. “Androids are required by law to wear the armband and identifying triangle markers. We can’t have them parading around disguised as humans.”

“Jeffrey why isn’t this a rookie cop’s assignment?” Hank protests with a groan. “Seriously, you want me to chase up an android playing dressups?”

The other man says nothing, swiping the tablet so it displays a graph.

“We’re getting an increasing number of people reporting odd and sometimes violent behaviour from androids, Hank.” He taps the screen and Hank doesn’t like the steadily rising figures. “I don’t want the next case I hand you be a homicide committed by an android disguised as a human.”

“Ah Christ, fine I’ll look into it.” He shoves the chair back as he stands, grabbing the tablet off the table.

“Be discreet, we don’t want the public to panic.”

“Got it.”

* * *

Autumn’s well and truly settled into Detroit. The trees are all awash in golden hues and the air is crisp with the scent of fallen leaves. Carl chooses a rich cocoa brown Bottega Veneta trenchcoat and an olive green scarf for Markus.

“I won’t mind if you stay out a little while.” He tugs the lapels and smoothes them flat. “You can have a wander around if you like.”

“My objective is to pick up the drycleaning and return home.”

“I know.” Carl sighs, fussing over the scarf. “But you can do other things while carrying out your objective, Markus. The weather’s so nice today, it’d be a shame to just go and come back so quickly.”

“After I return with the drycleaning,” Markus says slowly, LED flickering yellow, “shall we go for a walk, then? Seeing as the weather is pleasant and not too cold for you?”

The panic, the dread, the anxiety rises up like bile in his throat and Carl should say yes, he really should but he can’t because the thought of leaving his house, the thought of facing the world again is too much for now.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to.” Markus gently places his hand over his. “I’ll ask some other time.”

Carl presses his lips together, brows furrowing as he composes himself again, shifting so he can squeeze Markus’ hand.

“Enjoy the weather for me, won’t you?”

“Objective added.” The robotic statement is tempered with a soft smile, and suddenly Carl’s anxious nausea vanishes, replaced instead with that small bud of hope beginning to unfurl into a bloom.

* * *

_‘The android pictured is not a CyberLife model. That is the RK200 designed, built, and programmed personally by Elijah Kamski at his own private residence. CyberLife are not accountable for Elijah Kamski’s personal actions, and take no responsibility for the actions of that android.’_

The email is brief but fails to mask the slight tone of unease. Hank frowns. Elijah Kamski stepped down from CyberLife four years ago, retreated to some fancy villa by the river, and no one’s seen him since. That he’s made an android by himself outside of CyberLife, and most likely outside any regulations, doesn’t sit too well in Hank’s gut.

He taps the ‘forward’ button and adds a couple of lines above the CyberLife email, explaining the situation and requesting assistance. The email address is an old PR one in the DPD database and Hank hopes it works.

After tapping send, his tablet pings a response mere seconds later.

_‘RK200 #684 842 971 is a gift from Elijah Kamski to Carl Manfred. It is a caretaker android programmed personally to be attentive to Mr Manfred’s needs after the vehicular accident.’_

The reply is signed off by ‘Chloe’ the PA to Elijah Kamski or so the email footer tells him. Hank remembers the accident well not just because it’d been all over the news but because Tina had been the officer on duty when it happened. She’d called it in, her voice shaking slightly as it was magnified by the announcement system. A multi vehicle pile-up after a speeding car lost control when trying to overtake another car. Three fatalities and one victim in critical condition: Carl Manfred, Detroit’s most famous artist.

_“Drone’s got eyes on it again.”_ Chris’ voice informs him through the earpiece. _“Heading to some store in Greektown.”_

“Always Greektown, huh?” Hank stores the piece of information. “Send me the feed.”

_“Yes sir.”_

The drone’s birds eye view opens up on his screen a moment later, and Hank watches curiously as the well dressed android walks towards a cluster of stores. It lacks the purposeful, mechanical stride of other androids, and instead walks at a leisurely pace. It stops by the fountain and looks at it for a few moments, before resuming its path to its destination.

If Hank hadn’t known already that it was an android, he could easily mistake it for a human. And that, _that_ was the dangerous part.

The android disappears briefly into a drycleaning store, emerging a minute later with garments tucked over one arm. It tilts its head up and closes its eyes, and Hank realises its basking in the soft morning sun. It’s an action a little too human, too uncanny valley for Hank to digest. He cuts the feed.

“Leave it for today.” Hank orders. “I’ll follow it and pick it up next time.”

* * *

There is a leaf with no blemishes, symmetrical and pleasing to the eye, of a rich carmine colour that reminds him of the tube of paint Carl opened the previous afternoon. Markus picks it up off the sidewalk and carefully holds it all the way home.

He tells Carl about the fountain and the light refraction in the water. He tells Carl about the warm morning sunshine and how it was not a negative experience on his tactile senses. He gives Carl the leaf and tells him it reminds him of the red paint Carl opened yesterday.

Carl smiles brightly at that, turning the leaf to admire its colour.

“Thank you Markus, it’s lovely.” He says.

“You’re welcome Carl.”

* * *

Reed’s the one who calls it in four days later, right when Hank’s about to take a bite into his lunch.

_“Plastic prick’s been seen by the drones walking through Ford park. Probably headed to Greektown now, so whatever you’re doing do it later.”_

Perfect timing, of fucking course.

The android’s wearing a fancy burgundy coat with black leather lapels, and a navy blue scarf looped around its neck. Hank stops it coming out of Bellini’s, box tucked under one arm.

“Excuse me.”

“Can I help you, officer?” It asks politely, and Christ these things give Hank the creeps.

“It’s Lieutenant, and yes.” He keeps his voice low so as not to alert the people around him. “Come with me.”

“I must return to Carl and deliver these paints.” It frowns.

“I’m taking you to him, by car.” Hank explains, gesturing for it to follow.

“Why?” Oh god now it’s asking questions.

“You’re, y’know,” Hank steps in a little closer, “breaking a law. I don’t want to startle the masses, so come with me and I’ll drop you home and have a chat with your owner.”

“Carl doesn’t like visitors.”

“I’m a Lieutenant of the DPD so I’m not exactly dropping by for a cup of coffee.” Hank grumbles, motioning again for it to follow. “Now come with me or I’m gonna have to arrest you and summon your owner to the precinct to pick you up in person.”

That gets its attention. It nods, following him obediently and getting into the passenger’s side of the car.

“His address is 8941 Lafayette Avenue.” The android recites, and before Hank can tap it into the GPS, the android blinks and the map calculates the best route.

“Jesus you guys are fuckin’ creepy.” He mumbles, and starts the engine. The drive is uneventful, though whenever Hank glances over at his passenger he has to fight the knee-jerk reaction that his brain assumes its a real person. It looks too human, behaves too much like one as it gazes wistfully out the window at the streets rushing by.

Hank pulls the car up into the driveway and the android dutifully trails him to the door.

[ _Alarm deactivated, welcome home Markus._ ]

The house security greets it, the door swinging open before Hank can knock on it and make his presence known.

“Ah Markus, come inside and open that box, it has more of the burnt sienna I need.” A voice calls out from somewhere.

“Err, excuse me Mr Manfred?” Hank raises his voice. “Lieutenant Anderson from the DPD, I’d like to have a word with you about your android.”

There’s a few moments of silence before an old man wheels himself through a set of automatic sliding doors.

“What about him?” Carl Manfred frowns, looking from the android to Hank and back again. “Are you alright Markus?”

Oh Christ the old man’s gone loopy, treating the android like it’s a real person.

“I’m fine Carl.” The android nods, a small smile on its lips. Hank clears his throat.

“Sir, the American Androids Act states that an android must be dressed in easily identifiable clothing.” Hank recites, gesturing at the coat. “We’ve had reports of your android being seen multiple times in public in clothing with no visible markers. Are you aware of this sir?”

“Of course I am, I dressed him.” Carl scoffs. “He’s in Prada, I’d say that’s easily identifiable.”

“Sir, all androids must wear a uniform.” Hank feels exhausted all of a sudden, fighting the urge to squirm under Carl Manfred’s bemused gaze.

“He’s having some made but they’re not ready yet.” Carl waves his hand dismissively. “You can’t rush art, Lieutenant. The design process and the craftsmanship hours must be allowed to happen organically.”

“Then it needs to stay inside.”

“He needs to go fetch me things because I can’t fetch them myself, as you can see.” The man gestures at his legs.

“Then it needs to wear a uniform. Any domestic caretaker uniform will do, so long as it wears the armband and triangle markers. Put it in a maid uniform for all we care sir, it just needs the markers.”

“No.” Carl shakes his head. “No, they’re all hideous.”

“Sir- I-” Hank sighs in frustration. “Listen, I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but if the android is seen in public again without proper attire I’m going to have to fine you.”

Carl laughs loudly at that. “Alright Lieutenant, duly noted.”

“Have a nice day sir.”

“You too.” He nods. “Come on Markus, let’s crack into that new box of paints.”

* * *

The android walks into Greektown the very next day wearing a deep green coat and a rich golden scarf.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Hank nearly chokes on his coffee, spilling a little bit onto his hands in his rush to put it down. He intercepts the android before it can enter a clothing store.

“I just spoke to your owner yesterday what the fuck are you doing out here dressed like this?”

“Please fine him.” The android requests, voice even.

“...What?”

“That’s what Carl said. He told me to tell you to fine him.”

“He’s not gonna stop this is he?” Hank massages his temples to quell the growing tension in his head.

“My uniforms are being constructed by designer Lucas Ossendrijver, former menswear designer for Lanvin.” The android informs him, and Hank swears it looks amused. “They will be ready and shipped from the Netherlands in a few weeks.”

“You’re meant to either stay home or wear a different uniform until then.” Hank reminds it.

“Carl does not agree with either of those options.”

“Alright I’ll fucking fine him, come with me to the car and I’ll write it up.”

“Yes Lieutenant Anderson.”

It happens another seven times and by then it’s a running joke at the precinct. It’s not just Hank, no, it’s Chris, it’s Gavin, it’s Tina- they’ve all had to issue a fine to Carl Manfred’s android because the loony old man wants to send out his plastic pretend son in designer clothing. And why not, right? The fines are pocket change to the second richest man in Detroit, second only to Elijah Kamski himself.

His desk phone beeps at him, and Hank picks up the receiver.

“Anderson.”

_“Lieutenant, Carl Manfred is at the front desk requesting to see you.”_

There’s that headache again, building right behind his eyes and drilling into his temples.

“I’m coming.”

The situation is probably monumental in that it’s the first time the painter’s been seen in public after the accident, but really, all Hank can think about is how the old man’s kept himself amused at their expense.

“Good afternoon Lieutenant.” Carl greets him with a smile. The android is standing behind his wheelchair, hands resting on the handles. It’s wearing the goddamn Prada coat it wore when Hank first dropped it off at the mansion.

“Good afternoon sir, how can I help you?”

He can already hear the whispers around them, the people trying to take photos, some discreetly, some very openly. The headache grows.

“Oh I just wanted to personally let you know the uniforms have arrived for Markus and I’m here to pay off my fines.” Carl grins, and Hank knows the man has nothing but chaos running in those veins. “This will be the last time we disturb you, I promise.”

“That’s eight fines, sir. Eight.” Hank sighs. “All of them unnecessary.”

“Nine.” Carl corrects him with a grin. “He’s out of uniform today too, so we’ll pay the $1600, and an additional $200. For today’s trouble, of course.”

“Transaction complete.” The ST300 confirms with a nod. “All outstanding fines have been settled.”

“Alright Markus, let’s go home.” Carl declares, flashing Hank a grin. “Thanks for your time Lieutenant.”

“Please stay out of trouble.” Hank implores. “The _both_ of you.”

“Duly noted, Lieutenant.” The android grins and Hank’s had enough for today.

* * *

_November 13, 2039_

He pulls the car up into the driveway of 8941 Lafayette Avenue and kills the engine. The snow hasn’t stopped falling all day, carrying on well into the afternoon and still falling now in the early evening. He tugs his scarf to better cover his neck, buttoning up his coat before bracing himself to exit the car.

“Carl Manfred’s house has a state of the art temperature stabiliser.” Connor informs him as they step out of the car. “You and Sumo will be warmer once we’re inside.”

Hank sighs, and it’s a tired kind of fondness as the android opens the side door and eagerly helps the large dog out of the vehicle before hurrying to the mansion. It’s opened by Markus wearing a rather familiar burgundy coat with leather lapels.

“Hello Markus.” Connor greets the other android with a smile.

“Hello Connor.” Markus grins, pulling the android into a hug. “Hello Sumo. And hello, Lieutenant Anderson. Please come inside.”

He takes their coats, and Hank dusts the snow from his hair. Connor looks from him to the living room and Hank rolls his eyes, barely reaching out in time to snatch the beanie off Connor’s head.

“Go on kiddo.” He gives his permission, and Connor bounds into the living room, Saint Bernard and Markus in tow.

“Good evening Hank.” Carl’s deep rasp carries all the same mischief from all those years ago.

“Evening, Carl.” Hank grasps his hand in a firm shake. “Staying out of trouble?”

“Me?” Carl gives an exaggerated expression of incredulity. “Lieutenant I am an upstanding citizen, of course I’ve stayed out of trouble.”

“So if I were to go inside that living room I absolutely would not find any deviants?” Hank feels the grin break out on his face, the weariness of the day easing from his shoulders like melting snow.

“Oh, absolutely not.” Carl shakes his head. “There’s absolutely no way I’m harbouring the Jericho Four in my house and throwing an anniversary party to which you and your family have been invited.”

“Well that’s good.” Hank nods, his grin turning into a laugh, one that Carl shares. The older man gestures towards the living room.

“Scotch?”

“I’d love some.”  


**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Markus' handsome coat.](https://tomandlorenzo.com/2017/01/jesse-williams-at-the-lanvin-fall-2017-menswear-fashion-show/)
> 
> [I'm still on this hellsite](http://archadianskies.tumblr.com/)   
> 


End file.
